


Dust and Gold

by SublimeDiscordance



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, M/M, Post-Kaiju War, Sibling Incest, Yancy Becket Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 13:59:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3292970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SublimeDiscordance/pseuds/SublimeDiscordance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They don't always find one another. They don't always connect. They fight. They leave. They die. And then they do it all over again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dust and Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DefaltManifesto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DefaltManifesto/gifts).



> For my lovely friend because reasons and things. (Not the least of which is that he started this goddamn pairing. So.)
> 
> This just popped into my head and I spent a few nights plinking it out while working on my manuscript and a few other things. 
> 
> Unbeta'd. Ye be warned.

They don’t always find each other. They don’t always connect. They aren’t one soul split into two bodies, one of them the extension of the other. They aren’t two halves in a greater beast, instinctively able to locate their matched piece by proprioception alone. They miss one another entirely. They get off the elevator at the ~~right~~ wrong floor. They only manage to catch a passing glimpse of a familiar face through the rain before it’s gone, never to be seen again. They get things wrong. They fight. They screw up. They leave.

They die.

And then, they do it again.

 

 

_“Yance?”_

_He looks away from where he’d been watching the news, away from almost constant coverage about the Wall of Life being taken down and the hunt for the remaining kaiju cultists. His scars still glint shiny and pink in the blue light, in spite of them being more than ten years old at this point—Knifehead’s touch going deeper than any of them could’ve possibly imagined. Glances over to see Raleigh standing in the doorway to the kitchen, not leaning against it like he normally would, just...standing. Arms at his sides. Shoulders somehow managing to be both squared and slumped at the same time._

_“Yeah Rals?”_

_Feet shuffle across the carpet of their condo, and his younger brother’s body is suddenly blocking his view. Not that he minds, because it means Raleigh’s close enough that he can sit up on the edge of the couch, wrap his arms around the kid—_ “‘M not a kid anymore, Yance! _” “_ Whatever you say, kiddo.” _—and pull him close, nuzzling into the strip of exposed skin at his hip. He can feel the way Raleigh shivers beneath the touch, hands falling to Yancy’s shoulders as if to steady himself. The sounds of the television, usually so adept at drowning out the murmuring hum of the city around them, do nothing to cover up the soft gasp the action elicits, or the words that leave his brother’s lips._

_“I...Yance, I remember.”_

 

 

Sometimes they don’t remember each other until it’s too late. Sometimes one of them will remember but the other won’t. They watch from afar as the other goes blithely about with their life, the knowledge that this isn’t the first time they haven’t been remembered their only consolation. They have watched one another marry someone else countless times. Have let their heart be shredded to a thousand pieces with only memories to keep them together. Have sat at one another’s deathbed, unknowing eyes clouding in confusion and maybe— _maybe_ , a sad, desperate hope at the back of their mind will chime—a hint of recognition at the very last second as their clasped hands fall lax.

Sometimes, neither of them remember. Sometimes, that doesn’t matter so much.

 

 

_His demeanor changes in less than a single beat of his suddenly-racing heart, the grip he’d had on Raleigh’s waist no longer soft but hard, bracing. Keeping them both anchored in this moment, in this one, singular instant._

_“Wh-” he has to swallow the lump that’s formed in his throat, “what was that, kiddo?”_

_“You Remember too, don’t you?” Raleigh asks him instead, the capital letter almost audible, hands on Yancy’s shoulders moving until one is on his neck, the other tangling in his hair. Whether to keep him close or push him away, though, Yancy’s not sure—has never been sure, really._

_He nods, his eyes falling shut as warmth burns at their corners._

_“How long?”_

_“A few years.”_

_The hand in his hair tightens at the noncommittal answer, and before Yancy can move, can do more than open his eyes, his brother is kneeling down to face him. Is forcing their gazes to lock. Is—_

_Watery lines track themselves down Raleigh’s face. The sight sends something cold racing through Yancy’s stomach, and he finds himself lifting a hand without even thinking about it, thumb brushing away the evidence of his brother’s tears._

_“How long, Yancy?”_

_The words aren’t soft, but they aren’t harsh, either. They catch on his name, and there’s a warmth that pools cold in the space where his thumbs have ceased their motions over Raleigh’s cheeks. Those blue eyes—eyes that he could never forget, not really, no matter what color they might be—are shining, reflecting something uncomfortably like guilt back into Yancy’s heart. He makes a soft noise, not quite a shushing one, and not quite a coo: somewhere in-between._

_“Since,” he has to swallow, to get that damned lump out of the way as he blinks back his own heat that burns his eyes, “since just before Knifehead.”_

 

 

Neither of them knows when it started. _How_ it started. Simply that they have always been like this for as long as either of them can remember. They’ve developed theories across lifetimes, sure: some omnipotent being’s idea of a sick joke, some kind of experiment gone wrong, or even maybe—and this had been Raleigh’s idea—that they’re already dead, that this is all just some kind of purgatory they’re forced to occupy together.

Not that it changes anything.

 

 

 _No matter which life Yancy recalls, Raleigh has always,_ always _, looked like a puppy when he’s confused. This one is no exception._

_“Wh—how?”_

_Yancy can hear all the questions underlying that single word. How had he hid it in the drift. How did he keep it from Raleigh even after that? How...how is this even possible?_

_He can also hear the one that’d tried to come first, that his brother had strangled at the last moment:_ why _didn’t he tell him? He leans forward, pressing his lips to Raleigh’s softly, then gathers his kid brother in his arms. Holds tight to broad shoulders—always growing up to be bigger than him, no matter which of them was actually older—and leans into the couch, taking Raleigh with him. Forces the kid to join him or be pulled off balance. Not that Raleigh minds, if the low humming sound he makes is any indication. Yancy presses his lips to Raleigh’s again once they’re situated, his arms still holding his brother loosely._

_“I didn’t know what it would do to you if I showed you while you didn’t remember yet,” he whispers softly, feels his breath swirl back up against his lips where it meets Raleigh’s skin. “I was worried the neural feedback would kill you. I didn’t want to risk hurting you. Would’ve never forgiven myself.”_

_“But...you’ve hurt me before,” there is no question, no waver or uncertainty in the words. Only a simple, solid calm._

 

 

They are not always lovers. They have been, many times over, but not always. They are not always born at the same time, or even in the same generation. They have been mother and son, grandfather and grandson, complete strangers not even born in the same century. They find remnants of one another hidden throughout the world. A locket with a photograph that triggers the memories and a kind of quiet, unwavering certainty. Letters home from a war long-since passed, unopened, almost as if waiting for their rightful recipient.

They have been best friends. Child and parent. Cousins. Trapped halfway around the world from one another. Next door neighbors. Complete strangers with an ache that never seems to go away. Because, whatever, whoever, and wherever they are, they always, whether they remember or not, need to find one another.

And, most of the time, they do.

 

 

_There’s a churning in Yancy’s gut as he holds Raleigh’s gaze, head bowed._

_“I know, love,” he could swear he almost sees his brother breathing in the words as he forms them in the air. “And there’ll be a part of me that always carries that, from one life to the next. The same way I know a part of you,” he rests a hand on Raleigh’s chest, palm over the steady, strong heartbeat he can feel there, “carries all the times you’ve hurt me.”_

_He has to take a breath, look away from the emotions—so new and so old at the same time—swirling behind his brother’s eyes. Leans further down until their foreheads are touching. It’s not comfortable for his back, especially the line of muscles on his right that underlie the woven scar tissue. He does it anyway. He could read the insecurity that’d been in those eyes as easily as text inked on a page, could see it in the way Raleigh’s eyes were darting every few seconds to the side before returning—knows it has nothing to do with past hurts of distant lives. He screws his eyes shut as he draws in another breath, lets the world fade back into view, and locks eyes with his brother again._

_“Raleigh, the way I love you, here, now,” he punctuates the words by applying gentle pressure with his hand over the kid’s heart, “has nothing to do with our past lives together. I love you for you, Raleigh Becket. For exactly who you are_ now _.”_

_And when he feels Raleigh’s mouth open, feels the drawn-in breath cold against his face, he doesn’t give the kid a chance, just closes his eyes and presses their lips together._

 

 

They have lived as many lives as there are stars in the sky. More, probably. They tried to count, once and only once. They never did finish. Through all of them, all those existences that have become points of flickering light and darkness and color in their minds, there are some things that change, such as their outward appearance. However, some things...some things stay the same.

Raleigh always has a sweet tooth that he’s yet to escape despite his many attempts. Yancy has always been fascinated by the intricacies and details of life. Raleigh refuses to listen to ‘old’ music, never ceasing to amuse Yancy with how inane such a concept is for them. Yancy sleeps late whenever he can, while Raleigh’s eyes are wide open at the crack of dawn.

Raleigh always has the same exact face when he comes, always breathes Yancy’s name—whatever it might be at the time—in the same, broken whimper as his world shatters into blinding white. And Yancy...Yancy will never get tired of hearing it.

 

 

_Raleigh makes a brief sound of protest before he melts into Yancy’s arms. Yancy doesn’t deepen the kiss. Doesn’t bring their tongues into play like he would almost any other time. Instead he holds his brother in his arms—not like something fragile, but like something precious. Allows them both to adjust to their new reality that is so familiar and yet so new just like every time they both Remember. Allows them both to luxuriate in the moment, the memories flowing over their skin as Raleigh starts trembling lightly, making a soft, plaintive sound deep in his throat._

_“It’s okay, Rals,” he finally breathes against the kid’s lips, “it’s okay. You’re okay. This is real,” he noses at Raleigh’s cheek, “this is_ now _. It’s not a dream. You’re still here. I’m still here with you. I’m not going anywhere.”_

 _“I almost lost you,” comes the hushed answer. Yancy can feel Raleigh’s knuckles tracing over his arm, over the scar tissue there, feels his own hand sweep over his brother’s ribs to feel the matching set there. “I didn’t_ remember _and I almost_ lost you _, I...how could I not_ remember _, Yance—?”_

 

 

This is hardly their first time as lovers. Nor is it their first time being brothers. Nor both.

It is, however, the first time they have been given a second chance.

 

 

 _“You didn’t,” Yancy interrupts him, pulling away to look down into his brother’s eyes, to truly_ take in _the infinite lifetimes reflected beneath him, the fear and shame that overshadows them all like a dull fog._

 _“You_ didn’t _lose me, kiddo. And you’re not going to. Not this time.”_

_And maybe that only brightens his brothers eyes a fraction instead of a whole. Maybe it’s not a fix. Maybe, though, it doesn’t need to be. Maybe this is just another bump in the road, one that will, one day, be smoothed over. Maybe, with forever stretching ahead of them and behind them, it won’t matter in the end._

_Of one thing, though, he’s certain: in this lifetime, they’re Raleigh and Yancy Becket. Brothers. Copilots. Heroes. Lovers. And they can get through anything. They’ve done it before, in this life and others, and they will do it again._

 

 

They are not two halves to the same whole. They are not conjoined and then torn apart in some vast display of the universe's cruelty. They do not find one another, over and over and over again, sometimes remembering all their lives before, sometimes not needing to, because they are soul mates.

They are Richard and Yvonne, the doctor and the waitress at his favorite restaurant in the small town that he'd felt inexplicable drawn to set up a practice. They are Rose and Carley, daughters to warring houses whose love could never be acknowledged. They are Dominic and Jeremey, a single father trying desperately to feed his three year old son, to quell the feeling that no toddler he's ever seen has looked at the world with so deep an understanding before. They are Raleigh and Yancy, brothers turned lovers as their unremembering minds merged in the drift, fighting to save the world from an evil that their other lives would've thought unimaginable. They are daughter-brother-sister-son-father-cousin-friend-enemy-lover-stranger-partner to one another, and everything in-between.

They are drawn together not like the pieces of a puzzle falling together, but like two galaxies. Swirling about and around and through one another.  Eventually colliding in an explosion of light and heat and beauty that is too magnificent, too grand, to ever truly be understood.

They are not soul mates. They simply are what they are. Two souls, drawn together across time, through fate, karma, or maybe just dumb luck. They live. They die. They get it right. They get it wrong. And, ultimately, they find love, or something like it. Together.

And, maybe, to them, that is, was, and will be enough.

 


End file.
